


Slaying Dragons

by TheAnswerIsDawn



Series: Tales of the Dúnedain [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2506661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnswerIsDawn/pseuds/TheAnswerIsDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tale of the Dúnedain. As a young boy, he loved these lands as a playground...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slaying Dragons

As a young boy, he loved these lands as a playground – the oak tree in the meadow was his castle, the green a place for kick-ball and wrestling, and he slayed dragons in the lean-to behind the smithy. Oh, he had chores the same as the other lads, but tending the goats and gathering the hay was taken in good spirit (after all, everyone knew that you had to work hard to become a ranger). Then he was taller, and mending fences and thatch and chopping the firewood made him feel like a man, not a skinny lad of thirteen with hands that were too big and legs as awkward as a young colt’s.

But with age comes understanding, and when his Naneth stood by patiently as she watched him through form after form with a sword too heavy for his arm, he learned it was his duty to protect his people, that his little brothers and sisters and cousins could climb trees and wrestle and laugh as they toddled behind their parents. Because orcs were multiplying, fewer men returned each winter with the snows, and now he stood solemn through funerals of men he had known and loved, of big brothers and uncles and boys barely old enough to shave.

He grew taller, the months passed, and then came ranger- training: woodcraft and swordcraft and all its hard lessons and harder truths that left him exhausted as he trudged home at dusk, until one time he didn't come home, riding out on patrol with his Adar and another lad barely older than he. Soon he had his first orc, instinct overriding blood and fear, and he was no longer a child but a man, ready to protect his land and his family. His sword swung true from well-muscled arms, a star glittered on his cloak, and when he returned he towered over Naneth as she raced to meet him at the gate.

And so the years passed, the lad he had befriended fell to an orc arrow, and then one day ‘twas his Adar’s lifeblood draining out into Eriador’s mud. They buried him where he fell, shouldered their grief with their packs and turned their faces to the sun, but when the patrol returned to gather in the harvest, the drums throbbed in the Great Hall until tears spilled unheeding down his cheeks. Morning found him in lighter heart than he had been in months, companionship helped ease the burden, and as the seasons changed there was a lass to kiss behind the hay-shed and another pair of arms to welcome him home.

* * *

Now he’s a father himself and his son slays his own dragons and mends fences and gathers the hay, and a gap-toothed grin in a face so similar it could be his own greets him at the end of each patrol. The lad will grow up a fine ranger, the men say, and if he’s lucky he’ll live long enough to find a lass to court and bairns to raise, and the circle of joy and pain will start over once more. But fate is a fickle mistress and these are uncertain times, for each year the shadow in the East grows longer and they slide a little closer to the edge of the knife.

But as the sun sets over the forest and the children cry out in joy at the return of the patrol, he finds that no matter what evil taints this land, no matter how many times he sees the light fade from comrade’s eyes, a man can always, _always_ hope.

Because, though the children will play on with their games of make-believe and wooden swords and elf princesses, and though the ancient oak tree in the meadow will forever be a fortress to rambunctious lads and lasses, someday, he believes, someday, there will be peace.

And on that day, maybe he will have no more dragons to slay.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not particularly happy with the ending, but it's been sitting on my computer for ages so I thought I'd post it.


End file.
